


One Horse or Two

by Llewcie



Category: Hannibal (TV) RPF, Hannibal Extended Universe - Fandom, King Arthur (2004) RPF
Genre: Hannibal Extended Universe, M/M, Tristhad Week, short fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-11
Updated: 2016-04-20
Packaged: 2018-06-01 18:00:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6530302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Llewcie/pseuds/Llewcie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a series of very short Madancy fics set during the filming of King Arthur (2004).  These are all RPF, so consider yourself warned, my darlings!  Ratings will be posted per chapter.  For you, Amelita, because you are an awesome influence!!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In the Mud (T)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thymogenic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thymogenic/gifts).



Hugh jumped under him to ease his fall backwards. Joel was lugging Mads with all of his strength, but tipped him too heavily, and Mads limp body careened towards the ground towards Ioan, already playing dead against the turf of the battlefield. Hugh managed to get an arm around his shoulders before Mads slumped heavily to the ground, keeping his landing from hurting him but trapping Hugh underneath. Hugh twisted hard in an attempt to get a knee on the ground, grunting as the air was pressed from his lungs, his back arching painfully over Ioan's metal breastplate. Ioan, protected for the most part by his armor, still wheezed at the combined weight of Hugh and Mads. "Gods, you fucking oxen", he muttered, wriggling to get out from under them and reaching out to Joel to help him up. 

"Holy hell, Mads," Hugh groaned, now flat on his back under the other man. The Dane, his face pressed into Hugh's neck at an awkward angle, giggled breathlessly. Hugh shifted under him and Mads just laughed harder, wheezing past the bend forced in his throat. "Mads, goddamn it, you must weigh twenty stone in that fucking armor!"

Mads hummed against Hugh's throat. "Unskyld…Sorry, wee man. Jeg er en skildpadde på ryggen" He thought for a moment, his body relaxing against Hugh's, for all the world like he was preparing to take a nap. Hugh felt Mads' body uncoil, and let out a great sigh, further emptying his lungs. "Like a turtle on the back, ja?"

Hugh shoved at his shoulder. "Well, I'm the turtle being crushed flat beneath you, _ja?_ So, could you please roll off me?"

Mads blew a hot breath against his throat, nosing him gently. "Are you bestemt, this is what you want?"

Hugh laughed a breath, and hooked a hand under the shoulder of Mads' armor. "I'm certain, yes, fucking turtle." Mads huffed a final laugh, causing the curls on the back of Hugh's neck to prickle into goosebumps, and rolled easily to the side, hopping up as if he weren't burdened with an additional forty pounds of ring maile and leather. He held his hand out to Hugh with a cheeky grin.

"Komme, little mennske. You'll get mud on your shining armor made of little leaves."

"You’re such a bastard," Hugh grunted, his lungs finally able to expand. But he took Mads hand at once.


	2. The Pub (T)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hugh and Mads share a drink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where a few of you will peel off, and that's totally A OK. This is a work of fiction, and i'm not tinhatting, or implying/assuming anything about the actual people on which these are based. Right. Carry on, then!

They were settled in the pub in a table by the fire with a pint each, tired from a long day in the saddle. Hugh tried without success to find an angle of his backside that didn't ache, so finally gave up and slumped heavily back in the chair with a sigh. Everyone else had already gone upstairs, if not to bed, but Mads was always up late, and Hugh didn't want him to drink alone. That's what he told himself, anyway, and it was certainly believable. Mads was frequently alone in corners, surviving on much less sleep than the others. Sometimes he spent long hours texting back and forth with his wife and kids, but now his phone was tucked away. 

"My wife's girlfriend," he began conversationally, "has always wanted to meet you."

Hugh pondered him a long moment, but Mads' expression was easy and open-- no devious twinkle in the corner of a russet eye to indicate he was teasing. Hugh raised his eyebrows as he took a drink of the excellent local brew. "Your wife has a girlfriend?"

"Hmm," he agreed. "Very pretty. I'm quite fond of her."

Hugh grinned at him, intrigued despite his excellent breeding. "So how does that work?"

"Oh! Very well." Mads polished off his pint and waved for another, which the bartender already had filled, well accustomed to the Dane's habits. "Don't mistake me, Hugh." He leaned forward as the pint was brought to the table by a sleepy server. "I love her. She is my… my havn."

Hugh rolled his tongue around the half-unfamilar word. "Haven?"

"Yes," Mads nodded emphatically. "Where the ship comes to rest."

"Harbour?" Mads grinned at him and reached out a hand to press against his thigh, warmly.

"Yes, that. Harbour. She is mine, and I am hers. For all our lives together." He drank again, a drip of golden ale escaping his mouth to trickle down into the scruff of his beard. He rubbed it away with the hand that had left a brand of heat against Hugh's skin. Hugh shifted, his fingers trailing down his own thigh absently. "But," Mads continued, "I am often gone. All over the world, I travel, for this or for that. And we are ensom… alene." He paused, cocking his head, searching. "Alone."

Hugh nodded, understanding that perfectly. "And so she dates?"

Mads nodded, his eyes slightly more in focus than they were, a little bit sharper on Hugh's. "Os begge. We both do."

"Oh," Hugh offered, since his mouth was suddenly dry, his mind blanking, overwhelmed with possibilities. He drank to cover his lapse, only to find that his pint was empty. He waved it weakly at the bartender, who gave him a patient nod. Mads was still watching him, his gaze half-hooded in the soft light of the pub.

"I told her about you. Hanne. My wife." He looked away at last, and Hugh felt the loss, the room suddenly cooled.

"Oh?" he repeated, feeling like he was falling behind.

"Ja. That I cannot, from the one minute to the next, guess the color of your eyes." He paused again, drank, and his voice grew more soft, more rough. "That you laugh with your whole body." Hugh swallowed, wondering now how long Mads had been watching him like this, and if it was as long as Hugh had been watching Mads. "That when your costume hikes up so high on your thighs, I lose the ability of speaking. Stum." He flattened a hand, swept it over the table, swept the words away. Hugh swallowed again, his throat not any wetter now, his eyes fixed on Mads' mouth.

"Oh." For the third time. He searched for something to say that wouldn't absolutely betray him, that wasn't _gods please take me to your bed_. "What did she say to that?"

Mads smiled softly at him, his eyes deep brown under his golden bangs. "She wants to meet you as well."


	3. The Stable (T)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mads can't sleep.

The night was well past time for a good night's rest, with makeup call coming before the sun rose in the morning, but Mads couldn't sleep. Not feeling like drinking alone in the little pub below their rooms, he tugged on mostly clean track pants and a jacket over the tshirt he was supposed to be sleeping in, and headed out to the stables. Oscar snuffled in his stall as Mads gently opened the door and led him out into the throughway, clipping his lead to a ring set into the wall and going back into the tack room for the grooming kit. He chose a soft brush, not wanting to wake the gelding too thoroughly, and dragged the bristles over the soft grey-white coat. The gelding shivered and then settled, falling back into a doze as Mads gently worked him over. The work soothed him, his thoughts slowly fading into blankness, as he stroked a hand over a muscled flank.

"Was he as awake as you?" came a soft voice. Mads turned to see Hugh standing in the open doorway, Irish moonlight washing his features in pale grey and shadow. Mads smiled, just an upturning at the corners of his mouth, and nodded once.

"He keeps similar hours."

"Up late drinking?" Hugh was closer now, his voice even softer. A shiver worked through Mads' own skin, and he shook his head.

"He has better habits than I do," he answered, only half paying attention to his words, now that Hugh was so near. He wondered for a moment if Hugh had seen him leave, had followed him, and what that meant. "Could you not sleep?" he asked instead. 

"I heard your door." 

The reply settled into him like a sigh, gentle and full, and his hand stilled. Oscar roused himself to peer back at his companions, large eyes black in the dim light. Hugh reached out and rubbed the gelding's velvet nose. Mads turned to him, and found his eyes equally dark. "Did you want me?" Which wasn’t what he meant to say, not so loaded with longing, but in the soft hay-scented night it was what came out of him, and he couldn't pull it back. Hugh snorted a gentle laugh.

"And if I did?" 

For a moment, Mads couldn't find his voice. Hugh's face was open, lips parted, his body relaxed. Mads reached up to take hold of Oscar's halter, and led him unprotesting back into the stall. He slipped off the halter, patted his shoulder, and backed out of the stall, closing it behind him. Hugh watched him in silence as he put away the grooming kit and shut the door to the tack room. Then he moved to stand in front of Hugh, a foot away, deep in his personal space, and studied him. He was exquisitly beautiful, his thick curls mussed from sleeping, his mouth red as he chewed absently on his bottom lip. More than that, he was brilliant, as intelligent in conversation as he was joyful in play. Mads opened his mouth on a dry throat, forced a swallow, and tried again. "Do you?"

"So much." No hesitation, but his voice wavered, almost a whisper, and he stood still, radiating a strangely shy awkwardness. Mads lifted a hand to weave long fingers through the curls behind his ears, thrilling at his own boldness, at the indescribable pleasure of touching him with intent. Hugh reached for him, fingertips tense on the back of his neck, and pulled him down into a kiss. Their lips pressed together, firm and close for a trembling moment, and then Hugh opened his mouth and sucked at Mads' lower lip, and Mads' belly was consumed by the consummation, all at once, of the months of increasingly unsubtle looks, stolen touches, quiet conversations; all of it melted beyond recogniton into the heat of the kiss. Mads breathed a pained groan as he licked into Hugh's mouth, not close enough, not nearly close enough.


	4. The Walk Back (T)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The walk back to their little Irish inn.

The walk back to the hotel was suffused with the kind of giddy joy that Hugh had only felt once or twice in his life, when with another person. His smile had a life of its own, well beyond his English upbringing's ability to stifle. Ever time Mads glanced at him, which was often, his own slightly crooked smile glowing in the moonlight, Hugh felt his chest expanding. He reached for Mads' hand to ground himself, and when the Dane squeezed back, Hugh had to admit to himself that at 29, he was holding a man's hand while walking in the Irish moonlight, and it was the most stupidly romantic thing that he could recall ever happening to him. 

Beside him, Mads huffed a small laugh, and said, "I'm so relieved, kære. Had you… " He paused here, his fingers closing tightly around Hugh's fingers. "I know not what my heart would feel." His smile dropped for a moment, and he looked in that moment more like Tristan than himself. Hugh bumped his hip gently.

"I don't know why you would think I could possibly reject you." Hugh looked away for a moment, almost too embarrassed to continue. "I've been watching you for months. Surreptitiously. But still."

"Big word for such a little man." His smile was back, crinkling his eyes at the corners. Hugh snorted at him.

"Oxford," he shrugged. "It was learn or die. Um, I was trying to be sneaky. About watching you."

"Hmm, skjulte. I though perhaps you saw the… fiasko in me."

"Fiasco? I don't think that is a cognate, Mads."

"Eh, English and all of its fucking lånte ord," he grinned, and then clarified, "Borrowed words, ja? Fiasko, like when something goes wrong; like you thought it would be good but it lets you down."

Hugh stopped, and tugged Mads to a stop. The little inn was in sight and they were clearly illuminated, moon shadows crisp underneath their feet. "What, like failure?" Mads peered at him through both lashes and ashy bangs, his espression shy. Hugh pressed a gentle kiss to his mouth, and then another, less gentle. "No. No, never. Never." He kissed Mads again, slowly going deeper, slowly widening his mouth so that he could lick against Mads' teeth, his tongue, the roof of his mouth, Mads gave a shuddering groan and grabbed hard at Hugh's ass, lifting him up onto his toes.

Mads finally broke away with a sigh. "Stay with me tonight," he breathed. "Stay with me, in my room, in my bed." Hugh nodded against him, kissing his chin before pulling away, resuming their slow walk on legs that felt like they might not support him.


	5. At the Inn (E)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They wake everyone on their way up to Mads' room.

The narrow passage up the stairs echoed with their giggles, far too loud for far too late; the only thing stifling the noise was the exchange of wet kisses, not much quieter. Mads' room was on the second floor, and they were both only halfway conscious of winding up two full staircases, passing close to Ioan's room on one side and Clive's on the other, and then up the stairs to pass between the two Rays. The hallways were washed with moonlight flooding through the dormers in the staircase and at the end, and with low-light sconces on the walls in between the doors, flickering like old-fashioned gaslights. This inn only had twelve rooms, leaving much of the cast and crew in the town below in more modern accomodations. Mads like this little place though, and had insisted on living here with its worn carpets and wood floors, and the little pub on the ground floor. It smelled of wood polish and horses and beer, and most of all at the moment it smelled of Hugh.

Hugh's scent was something Mads had been hyper-aware of for months-- good cologne and sweat and horse and leather mixed in with an enticing clean soap smell that Mads sometimes found himself following out of a room, unconsciously or not. Now his nose was full of it, and his body was suffused with affection, and desire, and the pure uncluttered satisfaction of _fucking finally_. He reached the top step in a little leap and then tugged Hugh down the hallway, cheeks aching with smiling. The door gave them a little trouble, as hard as it was to focus, but Mads managed to unlock it just as Hugh shoved his body in between, pushing in first, already tugging his shirt over his head.

Mads had seen him shirtless before, of course. It was close quarters here, with all of them in a shared bathroom at the end of the hall, and they often had squeezed past each other, more slowly than necessary if at all possible. And he might have, at one point or another, privately coaxed the slow internet connection here to access scanned pictures of Hugh's modeling career. Without the beard he looked impossibly young. Now, staring back at Mads, pupils blown wide and naked to the waist, he looked merely impossible. Mads sighed out the tightness of his ribs and reached out.

On the bed, Hugh, balanced above him, tugged down the waist of Mads' track pants at a leisurely pace that actually caused Mads a bit of anguish. He shoved his hips gently upward, easily lifting the slighter man, prodding gently as he smiled and dragged a hand through his own unruly hair still partially braided, pulling it back out of his face. Hugh grinned at him, lifted himself to tug Mads' pants down and off, delighted that Mads was bare underneath, and thickening already so that unencumbered, his cock rose up and bobbed against his belly. Hugh just looked at him for a long moment in the soft light, his eyes wide and dark, and then bowed his head to lick a delicate tracery with the tip of his tongue over the hot velvet of it. Mads hitched a breath, moaning softly, the sensation of his body narrowed to where Hugh was touching him with hands, with thighs, with tongue. Hugh nosed at the thatch of wirey curls at the meet of his thighs, inhaling and licking lavishly, until Mads was panting and laughing with every stuttered breath. 

He reached again and caught at Hugh's shoulder, pulling him upward. "Lyst til at føle dig… want to…feel," he murmured, his mind losing its grasp on English in a hazy slide. Hugh pressed a sweet laugh into his mouth, and another, his lips open and tongue slicking across teeth and rubbing against tongue. Mads tugged off Hugh's loose sleep pants without effort or conscious realization, seeking the smooth round curve of Hugh's tensing ass. He used both hands, palms full of hot flexing muscle, and pulled Hugh down against him, seating Hugh's hips in the cradle of his.

They fit together neatly, wound tightly enough that thighs felt the strain. Hugh kissed like he was starving, whispering endearments and encouragement as they rocked together, murmuring, "Mads, yes," and "God you feel good," and "I want you… I've wanted you." 

Mads kissed back, slow and biting and wet as he thrust upwards into the tight heat between their bodies. "Hvor længe? Hugh, hvor længe?" And he knew the shape of the words wasn't quite right, but he couldn't think with Hugh bearing down like this, his cockhead kissing Mads' belly as his mouth kissed Mads' mouth. He gave up after a breath, sank entirely into his mother tongue as the base of his spine began to wind like a clockspring. "Smukke, min smukke… skat…" And then words failed, his mind white noise and the hot bliss compacting in his belly, and Hugh grunted on the downstroke and Mads shivered and tensed and came with a groan so loud it echoed in the corners of the room. Hugh bent his body upwards and gripped his cock in a tight fist, and spent all over Mads' belly in a shivering mess.

Hugh sank into him, into the warm slick spend between them, with a luxurious sigh. He kissed Mads' shoulder just beneath his mouth and rubbed against the fine curly fur beneath his cheek. "What was that, that you said?" But his voice trailed off into a sleepy yawn, and he curled up, shoving a leg under Mads' to cradle him. Mads bent to kiss his head. 

"Beautiful darling," he murmured, contemplating getting out of bed and dragging himself down the hall only for a moment before rejecting the idea entirely. He wriggled his shoulders more deeply into the soft mattress and wrapped both arms around Hugh. Neither of them stirred for a long time, and then Hugh, on the edge of sleep, kissed Mads' throat softly.

"May I stay?" 

Mads tightened his arms, kissed again where he could reach, Hugh's hair silky under his lips. "Stay. Please." And he truly didn't mind, if Hugh was seen leaving his bedroom in the morning. The thought of it made him smile again, so he added, "Move in with me."

Hugh huffed a gentle laugh. "People will talk."

"Let them, kære."

Hugh shifted against him, sinking further, nodding gently. "Help me carry my bags in the morning." And Mads didn't know if he was serious, or if he just wanted to in the moment, but either way, it filled him with a sleepy, joyful contentment, to sleep with both arms and heart full.


End file.
